


blackboards and canvas

by mr_charles



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mildly OOC, in which gottlieb is distracted by the mild sexy, mild mild mild blood kink, mild tattoo kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_charles/pseuds/mr_charles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Newt goes without a shirt. Gottlieb always notices</p>
            </blockquote>





	blackboards and canvas

**Author's Note:**

> this might be moderately OOC because I only saw the movie once so if it is, correct me and I'll fix it

The first time it happens is when the air conditioner breaks down for the better part of a weekend. Those in the Shatterdome were too restrained, too well trained to show any discomfort in the sweltering conditions (even Ms. Mako managed to keep her coveralls completely buttoned as the sweat made her hair limp).

But Newt... well there was a reason that Hermann could never use the word "proper" to describe him. While he felt naked in his thinnest cardigan, Newt felt that it was acceptable to traipse around the lab in...

In...

In a sweat-stained wife beater, worn down to transparency due to either age or sweat. Or both.

Newt was rambling on about something with his back to his colleague, waving his free arm wildly (his other up to the elbow in kaiju innards) but Gottlieb wasn’t listening. Newt’s tattoos weren’t limited to his arms and Gottlieb was becoming increasingly distracted by the garish caricatures contorting by the twisting muscles in Newt’s shoulders.

“You listening, Hermann?”

“Pardon?” Gottlieb was snapped out of his reverie by Newt shouting at him.

“I _said_ ,” Newt drawls, wiping the goo off his arm and turning to face Gottlieb, “I think I’ve figured out a new kaiju weak spot.”

“And w-w-where might that be, exactly?” Gottlieb is trying his hardest to sound cool and compromised and not like he’s distracted by the sweat gleaming in Newt’s collarbone.

He lets himself zone out while Newt rambles on about chest cavity compression and about how lower ribs are more susceptible to plasma blasts.

“So can you draw up some number for me, Hermann?” Newt finally asks.

“Yes, yes, I’ll do what I can,” Gottlieb splutters. “Now get out and let me work!”

Newt smiles at him, claps him annoyingly on the shoulder, before all but bouncing out of the lab. “You’re the man!”

With the door shut, Gottlieb sighs. Twelve more hours until that air conditioner is fixed.

 

In the weeks since the Air Conditioner Incident (no he doesn’t think about it at night or during the day or sometimes during meals), there have been two more kaiju attacks. Pentecost has been barking at them _double time, hurry it up, we need more jagers out there_ which has in turn led to him and Newt all but shouting at each other daily.

Some days they don’t talk, him and Newt, simply too absorbed in their respective works. But someone, the blame is equal now (although Gottlieb suspects Newt likes provoking him), will slip up (kaiju organs on Gottlieb’s blackboard… Newt forcibly changing the radio station after Gottlieb’s left it on Classical Hits for more than three hours… really anything by now) and the two men will devolve into outright shouting matches.

Poor little Mako will worm her way in between them with anger in her eyes and threats of getting Pentecost on her lips.

 

The second time is when Gottlieb can’t sleep. Here it is, nearly dawn, and Gottlieb cannot sleep. It’s not his leg. It’s not his nerves. It’s his _head._

Maybe a snack. Yes. A snack and some water and he’ll be right off.

Trying quietly to make his way to the kitchens (blasted cane all but vibrates off the metal), Gottlieb sighs heavily and tries to focus.

He can’t remember the last crush he had. Ah yes. Graduate school, all those years ago. What was her name?

“Hermann!”

Gottlieb jumps, damn near dropping his cane. The harsh lights of the kitchen bounce off Newt’s body and it takes Gottlieb a moment to notice that he isn’t wearing a shirt.

Also he’s eating ice cream.

“What in God’s name are you doing up at this hour?” Gottlieb tries to sound authoritative, he really does, but judging by Newt’s slight sway, he doubts that it’s working.

“I think this ice cream is the Russians’,” there’s a slight slur to Newt’s voice. He’s absentmindedly licking a spoon and Gottlieb can feel his brain simultaneously trying to process and reject this. “I can taste ‘nilla but I think there’s also vodka in this.” Spoon firmly in his mouth, Newt scans the carton for his answer. He mumbles something.

“Oh for goodness sake!” Gottlieb chastises him. “Don’t speak with your mouth full!”

Newt lets out a drunken little giggle at that. “I’ll do whatever I want with my mouth, thank you muchly.”

Gottlieb’s palms are sweating so badly that when he tries to walk, his cane slips out of his grasp. The clatter is deafening.

“I got it. It’s alright,” Gottlieb stammers as Newt stumbles over and picks up his cane for him. Gottlieb’s brain fries out as Newt is all but knelt down in front of him.

“There we go,” Newt mutters drunkenly. “Get your caney-cane back where it goes,” he sings as he slides the handle back into Gottlieb’s sweaty hand. “Now get to bed, Hermann.” There’s a wink with that and Gottlieb has to hold his breath as Newt makes his way out of the kitchen.

He lets himself stare at Newt’s bare (but still covered) back, but only out of the corner of his eye.

 

He doesn’t remember the last time it happens. There’s too much, too much, happening ( _Pentecost is gone the Russians are gone almost everyone is gone_ ) and Mako is too busy giving orders for either Gottlieb or Newt to have any kind of moment of down time.

He’s tending to one of Newt’s nosebleeds (and can feel one of his coming on as well) and the blood is dripping from Newt’s nose onto his bare torso. He’s mumbling about Newt’s recklessness and the insanity of Drifting with a kaiju brain and-

And then there’s something warm on his mouth. Newt is kissing him, a full kiss, a kiss full of promises and Gottlieb can’t even bring himself to care that there’s probably blood smeared all over them both.

“Hey,” Newt says softly. “Quit thinking so much.”

Yes. Yes that’s an idea Gottlieb can get behind.


End file.
